


See You Later

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gift Fic, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, No Underage Sex, One-Sided Attraction, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's always hated the words scrawled down the side of his chest, a black 'See you later' decreed by fate as the last words his soulmate will ever say to him. On the other hand, though they're just as generic, Dick's never seemed concerned about the 'Thank you' printed between his shoulder blades. Neither of them ever even considered that they might match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Defiance1031](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defiance1031/gifts).



> Welcome! This is the first chapter of a gift to one of my friends, because, well, I mentioned that I'd had the idea and she wanted it and so I wrote it. XD Enjoy, sweetheart!

It's a special kind of blissful hell to watch Dick train. It's like every plus has a backhanded negative to go with it.

On one hand, it's awe-inspiring to watch the first Robin flip and spin through the air like gravity is an afterthought, but on the other, it also lights a little spark of envy in his chest because he wishes _he_ could move like that. He's no slouch, and he can _do_ the whole acrobatics thing, but not like Dick can. He's got other strengths; flexibility and damn near _flying_ aren't on his list. Then there's the fact that Dick looks like a damn _god_ when he's sweat-soaked and flushed, muscle bunching in his bare arms and beneath the tight-fitting set of workout clothes he wears.

The negative of _that_ being that his hormones have been running wild for years and it does not take much to get him interested, let alone what feels like living, breathing porn-quality images right in front of his eyes. And god the _noises_. The little grunts of effort, the way Dick breathes... It's safe to say that he spends most of the time they're both down there 'training' staring at his predecessor as subtly as he can manage.

And _god help him_ whenever Dick asks if he wants to spar.

He can't help agreeing with the black words scrawled across Dick's back, stretching from one shoulder blade to the other in thick letters. ' _Thank you.'_ At some point someone is going to get the privilege of being Dick's soulmate, and then sometime — hopefully _way_ in the future — those are going to be the last words they ever say to him. It's not bad, considering how painfully tragic most people in their line of work's sound. Shame Dick’s isn’t more unique, but some people prefer generic ones, so they don't know when it's coming.

He doesn't. He's always hated the uncertainty of the words written in a jagged line down the left side of his chest, just a little too far out to be hidden under his arm. _'See you later'_ isn't some declaration of love, or a way to know when his time has come, it just means that someday he's going to leave whoever his partner is and never see them again, one way or another. He _hates_ how it makes him nervous every time someone says that to him, regardless of who they are.

He doubts that Dick feels that same little thrill of nervousness every time someone thanks him. Dick always seems supremely confident, and _jesus_ , why wouldn't he be? His predecessor's got the looks and body of a model, experience, skill, and the talent to back it all up, and all of it seems to come as easy as breathing. Why _wouldn't_ Dick be confident?

"Hey, Little Wing!"

He jerks a little bit, trying to pretend that he was absolutely just taking a minute out of abusing the punching bag to rest and definitely not staring at the glistening, bare shoulders of his definitely-not-crush.

"Yeah?" he asks, pretty sure he hasn't quite managed to wipe away the deer-in-headlights expression, but it's definitely too late now.

At least Dick only smiles — oh god, there's another thing, the _smiles_ — and tilts his head towards the bare mats. "Go a round with me? Just for a little practical experience?"

Oh _fuck_.

"Uh, sure," is all he can manage, even as the rest of his brain — the parts stubbornly refusing to actually help — scream that this is, as always, a _terrible idea_. He's going to spar, there's going to be wrestling, and he's going to end up with a boner that his pants are definitely not going to hide and Dick will, of course, have the _grace_ not to say anything about it even though he _totally knows_. It'll be embarrassing and ridiculous and he's going to regret it _so much_. But also not even a little bit, because hot _damn_.

He shifts slowly over to the mats as Dick — who'd only been doing acrobatics on the bars — wraps his knuckles with some of the tape set aside, still smiling. "So, do you want to work on anything specific?" he asks, to distract himself from the feeling of impending doom settling around his shoulders.

"Nah," is Dick's easy answer, as he finishes the wrap on one hand and swaps to the other. "Just something to cool down with, you know? I'm about done for tonight."

"And you're headed back to the Titans in the morning, right?"

"Yep!" Dick agrees cheerfully, with another brilliant smile. "Long-term mission; should be back in a few weeks if everything goes well."

He crosses his arms, watching as Dick finishes the wrap on his second hand. "Lucky."

Dick winces, then moves forward and reaches out. He grumbles when that hand ruffles his hair, but doesn't actually move out of the way. "Hey, I'm sure Bruce will take you off the bench soon enough, Little Wing. You know how he gets sometimes. He'll get over it."

He doesn't want to add any of his own doubts to that — that he really did mess up, that he doesn't belong, that he's not going to last much longer here — so he just shrugs and mutters, "I guess. Sucks though."

"I know," Dick answers. "Trust me, I get how awful it feels when Bruce is mad at you. Just gotta weather it." Another reach, and this time Dick squeezes his shoulder, holding on for a few moments before he murmurs, "Come on, Little Wing. Go a couple rounds with me; work out a little excess energy."

Dick's hand falls away and he steps back, letting his arms uncross as he gets far enough away that Dick can't quite reach him. "I think you mean kick your ass," he fronts, with a grin he only sort of feels.

That gets him a laugh, and Dick shifts a foot back and falls into a basic stance as easy as breathing, hands rising and shoulders curling in a bit. "Yeah, definitely what I meant. But, you know, you're going to have to come get me if you want to—”

He leaps forward, swinging a feinted fist towards Dick side to get him to retaliate, and then dropping down into a roll underneath the arm that rises to try and hook him. He spins at the end of it, swinging a foot out to sweep Dick's legs that gets jumped over, before he has to roll out of the way of a heel towards his ribs. He gets far enough away, gets to his feet, and Dick is in his face. A fist catches him across the jaw before he gets his guard up, but he blocks the next couple and manages to land a pretty hard knee to Dick's side that he doesn't even get nailed for.

Dick's at the end of a workout, tired, and he can see it in the slightly slower pace to his movements, the slight lag time in reaction speed. Just enough to make them a little more even, and give him more of a fighting chance. Not that it stops him from getting taken down to the floor, wrapped up in arms and _way_ too flexible legs, and pinned until he taps out.

The second round is the one where he has to concentrate through the insistent presence of a boner caused by that feeling of Dick surrounding and holding and _moving_ against him. He does pretty alright the second time, by his estimate, but loses that one too after getting a few more bruises and landing a couple punches to return the favor. Dick's definitely ignoring the fact that he's hard, which is nice if not honest, so he does his best to do the same.

At least until Dick is untangling from around him at the end of the second round, and a leg getting untwisted from between both of his rubs _right_ over him with hard, firm pressure.

He gasps, chokes a bit, and Dick jerks away and instantly says, "Sorry, _sorry_ ; didn't mean to."

Curling in on himself doesn't really help, so he pulls together the focus to get to his feet, trying not to make eye contact with Dick even though he can see concern on his predecessor's expression. "It's fine," he forces out, twisting to face away and _really_ fighting the urge to reach down and try and cover the evidence up.

"Jason—”

He's _not_ down for whatever lecture is about to happen. "Shower," he blurts, cutting Dick off. "I'm just gonna shower. Um, rinse off. Yeah."

He definitely _doesn't_ run for the showers, face burning and his steps just a little awkward thanks to the embarrassingly obvious bulge between his legs. Thankfully he makes it to the showers, where he flings all his clothes off, yanks the curtain into place, and turns the water to somewhere in between warm and blazing hot. He has _tried_ to just ignore this before but it's just worse in the long run because then he keeps _thinking_ about it. Way better to just take care of it and be satisfied, instead of in that kind of pain.

He's already got his hand wrapped around himself when he hears one of the other showers start up, and he freezes and snaps his eyes open from where they'd drifted shut. It _has_ to be Dick, which does not make him feel even a tiny bit better, in either way. (He definitely didn't need to be thinking about Dick, naked and wet and the _steam_ —)

He thunks his head against the tile, then bites his lip and just decides to _hell_ with it. He turns to lean against the tile wall, closing his eyes again and raising his free hand to bite down against the back of his wrist. He tries, he really _tries_ not to listen, but god if he doesn't get off with Dick's humming in his ears, biting down hard enough into his wrist to muffle the noise that he almost draws blood. Shame curdles low in his stomach once the glow starts to fade, and he thunks his head once more against the tile before getting down to actually cleaning up.

Dick's long done by the time he's finished, and he thinks he's alone right up until he shoves the curtain open and Dick is sitting on one of the benches, redressed in casual clothes. He yelps in surprise, dragging the curtain back to cover everything important as he stares, cheeks flushing.

Dick just smiles, crooked and a little mischievous, and tosses him a folded towel that's sitting next to him on the bench. "Here."

He catches it automatically, then closes the curtain again and ducks back behind it actually dry off, heart pounding just a bit. Did Dick know that he—? Is there going to be some kind of a lecture, a warning, discipline?

"You know," comes Dick's voice a minute later, from behind the curtain. "There was a period of time when I was about a year younger than you, that I got hard every time I sparred."

He throws the towel around his shoulders, then carefully pushes the curtain aside and asks, "Really?"

Dick's gaze rises off the floor and to him, and the smile he gets is also sort of a wince. "Yeah, and I was sparring with _Bruce_." He winces, and Dick nods. " _Yeah_. Oh man, it was _so_ awkward, for both of us. I was just mortified every time it happened, and Bruce had _no_ idea how to deal with it… We got through it though, and you probably know this, but it's totally natural. Adrenaline, friction… It gets to everybody sometimes."

He coughs, circling around to grab clothes from inside one of the shelves down here. "Yeah, I uh, got that lecture."

"My _point_ is," Dick starts, "that no one's going to judge you for it. Especially not me, Little Wing. Don't worry about it."

Dick is turned away, letting him get dressed privately, so for just a moment he lets all his relief show. Just a moment. Then he pushes it off his face, and says, "Thanks," at the back of Dick's head, as casually as he can manage. Which isn't much.

Dick flashes him a slightly knowing smile, but doesn't call him out on it. "So, how about we head upstairs, watch a movie or two? Hang out?"

He tugs his shirt on, trying to dry his hair at least a little more — totally failing — before tossing the towel towards the hamper in the corner of the sectioned off area. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

"How about—” he turns around to face Dick "—first one there gets to choose the movie!"

Dick takes off running, and he gapes for a second before sprinting after. "Not fair!" he shouts, and Dick slows for just a second to laugh, which is enough for him to draw even.

Dick gets up the stairs faster, flipping up them like gravity isn't really a thing, but he manages to skid ahead as Dick waits for the security door to open, blocking the way for just long enough to stall his predecessor. Then it's just a flat out race. Dick's legs are longer, but he gets around corners faster. It's honestly a miracle they don't break anything — themselves or any of the decor — between the hidden door and the main living room, especially when they both dive for the remote at about the same time.

His fingers close on it a _fraction_ sooner, and he yanks it out of the way underneath him and declares, "Mine!" as Dick lands on the carpet next to him with a heavy rush of air.

Then Dick is laughing, and a second later he's joining in, grinning and then squirming when Dick drags him into a one-armed hug and ruffles his hair. "Nice!" Dick exclaims, a little breathlessly. "Alright, Little Wing, what are we watching?"

They trade commentary and sarcastic barbs through the whole first movie; along with devouring a couple bowls of popcorn that Alfred appears with without even a request. They argue over a second movie for awhile, before settling on a cheesy horror thing that they've both seen at least a few times.

Halfway through the second movie, as he's falling asleep against the arm of the couch, he murmurs, "Dick, about earlier… Thank you."

Dick, sitting by his feet, answers, "No problem, Little Wing. I'm always here if you need me; embarrassing reasons or not."

He doesn't answer, just curls a little more securely into the corner and feels his eyes drift shut again, out of his control. The movie's not quite interesting enough to keep him awake, as much as he enjoys it.

At the end of it, mostly unconscious, he registers the warmth of a kiss to his forehead, and then a soft, "I'll be back in a few weeks, Jason. See you later."


End file.
